


you're like a party somebody threw me

by c_libretto



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band), One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-12-05
Packaged: 2017-12-30 17:29:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1021419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c_libretto/pseuds/c_libretto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ashton’s constant state of mobility isn't necessarily bad, though it is some of the time, because Ashton’s just such a livewire and is always up and about even when Michael’s trying to have a peaceful day in. He’ll always find a way to rouse Michael out of his inanimate state somehow, poking his cheek and insisting that, “It’s a beautiful day outside, and we should make the best of it,” when all Michael’s thinking is, “No, the sun is out and I’d rather lie about in the house than get burnt alive by Sydney’s bitchy weather."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i've met someone that makes me feel seasick

**Author's Note:**

> this is an au i've been putting off for soooo long and well here's the first part for now! who knows when the second part will be up, but i assure you it will be, eventually. to anyone who's been waiting before, sorry for the delay! i'm terrible at keeping promises.

It’s only been two months, and Michael’s certain that Ashton is already driving him pretty insane.   
  
He’d struck Michael as a friendly sort of guy the first time they’d met, about a month since Michael had put up the ad in the newspapers in search of a roommate, at a coffee shop just down the block from his flat.  
  
“Hello, I’m Ashton Irwin,” the curly-haired brunet, standing almost as tall as Michael himself, has a great smile – all-white teeth and dimples that cut deep into his cheeks, small crinkles around his bright hazel eyes. Michael’s little smile in return paled by a hundred shades in comparison. He was easy to talk to; the deals were made without much ado. And he’s charming, because he’d offered to pay for Michael’s coffee, which he’d been thankful for because his budget had been pretty tight that week.  
  
He’d moved in just a few days after, surprisingly not carrying as many things as Michael had expected him to.  
  
All in all, it'd been a pretty quick and easy settle-down for Ashton, and Michael was really mostly just glad the burden of having to pay the full rental for the flat is now taken somewhat off of his shoulders. The first week passed pretty smoothly and it seemed as if Michael could actually get used to living with another person under one roof because generally, he doesn't do well living with strangers, but he'd decided that Ashton's a pretty endurable roommate.

He's got a great taste in music, he doesn't mind going out to get the groceries and is actually a lot more hygienic than a lot of people Michael had encountered before.

(Michael doesn't openly admit this to himself, but he actually doesn't mind a randomly shirtless Ashton walking around the house either.)  
  
Then when the third week came around, Michael had finally found the flaw in him that he'd never took notice of in the first two weeks - Ashton could never, ever,  _ever_  keep still. With the exceptions of him being completely worn out by a long day at work and that one time he'd caught a flu, he definitely isn't one to sit around doing nothing, always wanting to release his pent up energy like a puppy demanding for a run outside.  
  
Ashton’s constant state of mobility isn't necessarily bad, though it is some of the time, because Ashton’s just such a livewire and is always up and about even when Michael’s trying to have a peaceful day in. He’ll always find a way to rouse Michael out of his inanimate state somehow, poking his cheek and insisting that, “It’s a beautiful day outside, and we should make the best of it,” when all Michael’s thinking is, “No, the sun is out and I’d rather lie about in the house than get burnt alive by Sydney’s bitchy weather."  
  
Maybe it's his way of trying to 'bond' as roommates, but in all truth and honesty, Michael would much rather be left alone. Sometimes he meets Ashton's demands halfway as an act of compromise, because he sees Ashton trying really hard to get along with him, and Michael appreciates the effort, he really does.  
  
He just wishes that Ashton's attempts would include video games and pizza instead of getting out and about in town like he always does.  
  
At the current moment, Michael’s fortunate enough to have escaped Ashton’s persistent attempts to drag him out of the cave that he calls his home, thumbs jabbing rapidly at a game controller, eyes fixed on the screen with a great deal of concentration. Ashton’s out to buy milk, though Michael strongly suspects he won’t actually be back until late afternoon, after he’s greeted the whole city and made a few stops at his friends’ places, regardless of whether he is welcome there or not.   
  
Though come to think of it, it seems like no one ever says no to Ashton, so Michael cancels out the possibility that Ashton is ever considered unwelcome to anyone’s home.  
  
His phone buzzes with an incoming text message, and Michael pauses the game to check who it’s from.   
  
 _we’re going out tonight. no excuses! you have to meet my mates calum and luke_  
  
So it’s proven that Ashton’s idea of getting more acquainted with a new roommate is to introduce him to his endless list of friends, and it’s not like Michael’s completely opposed to that, it’s just that he’s just recently gotten a copy of Grand Theft Auto 5 and Sunday nights have always been video game night when he was just alone in the house before. His default reaction is an obvious no, but then he considers the fact that Ashton is helping to pay half of the bills, he does the dishes periodically and _never_  leaves a mess around so he sends back a half-reluctant reply:  
  
 _fine._  
  
Well, what the heck. Michael supposes it wouldn’t hurt to be sociable for a night. GTA will just have to wait.  
  
*  
  
  
"You'll like them, alright?" Ashton says as he presses the doorbell, a voice answering, "Wait a sec!" from inside.  
  
Michael tries not to be apprehensive, because he's seen the amount of graffiti on the walls of this particular flat and it pretty much looked to him like a vandal's lair. He's expecting a tattoo artist with piercings or an unshaven hippie to open the door -  _who knew what kind of people Ashton's capable of being friends with, right_? - but the boy standing in front of them is far from either personas. He's lanky, with too-long limbs that remind Michael of a giraffe and dirty blonde hair, dressed in a normal band t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans.  
  
"Ashton!" the boy seems surprised by their presence, "You didn't tell us you're coming. Calum and I were just about to go out."  
  
"Well, surprise," Ashton laughs, and turns to Michael, "Michael, this is Luke. Luke, Michael, also known as the guy who's been kind and generous enough to share his place with me."  
  
 _Damn right I am_ , Michael thinks, but smiles at Luke anyway. "Hi."  
  
"Nice to meet y-" There's a loud crash that makes the three of them jump a little, then an exclamation from somewhere inside, "Fuck!"  
  
"That would be Calum," Luke rolls his eyes. He steps aside to let Michael and Ashton come in.  
  
The sight that greets Michael upon entering is disastrous - an ironing board toppled over and a dark-haired boy sprawled over the floor, wearing only a white towel around his waist and clutching his foot, muttering curses under his breath.  
  
"Um," Michael manages, but Ashton bursts out in laughter. "What happened?"  
  
"I just decided to give myself a fucking foot massage on the floor," Calum replies with annoyance, "What does it look like to you?" He doesn't seem to be the least bit embarrassed at having visitors see him in a state like this.  
  
"Honestly, Cal," Luke sighs, walking over to put the ironing board onto its original standing position. He helps Calum up, hoisting him up by the hand and Calum winces in pain, "Oww."  
  
"Care to take us into your new flat, Ashton?" Luke asks, bringing Calum over to the sofa. He's still half-naked, leaning against the cushion with a pout, and Michael's wondering why he isn't flustered by Michael's open gaping at him already. "I don't think Cal can handle this small of a space anymore."  
  
The unit is pretty cramped, though still considered sufficient for two almost grown men to live in, but is undoubtedly tiny compared to Michael's. The whole house is probably only just about as big as Michael's living room. Considering the haphazardly scattered furniture around the tiny space, it isn't difficult to see why accidents can happen like this, maybe even on a daily basis if either Luke or Calum is actually highly accident-prone.  
  
"Aww, he's just a growing boy," Ashton coos mockingly, then shrugs. "You should ask Michael here. He's the boss."  
  
"So what about it, Michael?" Luke sits next to Calum on the sofa, chuckling, "Reckon you could handle two more idiots in the house?"  
  
"Hey! I've been a complete pleasure to have around the house," Ashton protests, plopping down opposite Luke and Calum. "Right, Mikey?"  
  
Michael raises an eyebrow at his new nickname. "Eh. You've been alright."  
  
Luke laughs. "Well since we've got visitors now, I guess we'll have to put off going out then. Especially now that  _you're_  all injured." He grimaces down at Calum's toe, which appears to be swelling with a fresh bruise against his lightly tan skin.  
  
"Aren't you gonna kiss it better, Lucas?" Calum feigns a baby voice, bringing his feet up to rest on Luke's lap, tongue sticking out from the corner of his mouth.  
  
"No, your feet stink," Luke shoves them away, and Ashton laughs, exclaiming, "Put some clothes on, you inappropriate bastard!"  
  
Calum groans, "Fine..." and stomps off, disappearing into a room. There's a slight lingering silence that follows, then Luke gets up to his feet and asks, "Would you like anything to drink, Michael?" It only takes a couple strides, and a couple more for him to reach the small refrigerator that Michael hadn't even noticed was there until now. Luke's holding the door open, eyeing him expectantly.  
  
"Oh, anything's fine," Michael replies, "A Coke would be good, if you have any."  
  
"I'm sure he can find that around their dozens of Redbulls," Ashton remarks, nonchalantly putting up his feet onto the center table and grabbing the remote control, switching the TV on.  
  
"Hey, Ashton," Luke calls, and Ashton swivels around just in time to catch a can of Redbull flying his way.  
  
"Thanks, Lukey boy," Ashton pops the can open and takes a large sip, cheeks ballooned as he holds the liquid in his mouth, eyes concentrated on the soccer match playing on the TV.  
  
"Good to see you haven't lost your reflexes," Luke says, coming back to pass Michael his Coke and holding another two Redbulls for himself and - Michael assumes - Calum.  
  
"How'd you guys know each other?" Michael asks, opting to settle down on a lone green exercise ball in the corner that seems to be a little out of air, a depression forming on the smooth rubber surface right as he sits on it. He winces with discomfort, but he looks around and well, he doesn't really have another choice anyway. There's only one spot left and it's sure to be Calum's.  
  
"School," Luke shrugs, attention apparently fixated on the screen as well. He's popping open his own can and taking a gulp. "Ashton graduated before us and I did, too, a couple of years back. Calum dropped out."  
  
"You say it as if it's a bad thing, Lucas," Calum's back, fully clothed and recovered from the pain, though limping slightly as he makes his way to sit down next to Luke. "I mean, we're doing pretty good now, aren't we? Pulling in cash enough to pay the bills, at least."  
  
Michael frowns in confusion. "What are you doing now? As a job?"  
  
"We're both playing in a band. Doing regular gigs, that sort of thing," Calum replies, then narrows his eyes at him. "You're not one of those pretentious people who think that we're wasting our lives away by doing music, right?"  
  
"No, not at all," Michael's amused by how easily provoked Calum is about this particular subject. He supposes it's something he's gotten a lot from other people whenever he tells them about his profession. "I think it's really cool. I almost dropped out, too, actually."  
  
"Almost?" Ashton's suddenly paying attention to the conversation, ignoring the rushed commentary blasting from the TV. "What held you back?"  
  
"Parents," Michael shrugs, "No one had the same plan as I did, anyway. So I stuck to my parents' plans for my  _bright future_  -" he rolls his eyes, "- and got a degree. Now I'm just swinging from job to job but y'know. At least they know I'm not living the wild rockstar life out there."  
  
"I would've thought -" Calum blurts out, but then pauses. Luke peers at him curiously, with an expression that implies that he knows it's not going to be a good thing, whatever it is that he's about to say.  
  
"Hm?" Michael presses on.  
  
"Well," Calum laughs, evidently eyeing something on Michael's head, still coy with hesitance, "With hair like yours, you'd be doing exactly that sort of thing."  
  
 _Oh_. Michael bursts out laughing, hand going up to touch his fuchsia-dyed strands.  "Yeah, well, I guess you can take it as a sign of rebellion against my parents. I'm really too lazy to go all out, so this is the least I can do to piss them off."  
  
"Michael the rebel," Ashton says, grinning, "Who knew?" He says it like he's never known about it before, though Michael's pretty sure he's told him this somewhere around the second week he'd moved in.   
  
(Michael's not entirely surprised, though. With so many things going around in Ashton's head, from the mundane to the utterly weird, it's a miracle he can still remember his way back home.)  
  
The truth is, what Michael had told these three boys is really only the tip of the iceberg, because there's a lot more to the story that he leaves out on purpose for various reasons. He'd taken enough care not to mention that his parents were furious about his almost dropping-out, and had driven him to the edge right up to the point when he'd graduated from school. He conveniently had forgotten to mention that the only reason why he's barely scraping through to pay up for his rental bills is because his parents have decided to cut most of his allowance, insisting that he should go out and "get a proper job like everyone else".   
  
And he doesn't say this, but there was a little twinge of envy he'd felt when Calum had revealed that they were in a band. It seemed like a huge and far more appealing contrast compared to his usual everyday cycle of going to work, coming back and playing video games or watch TV until he falls asleep. In short, he'd never really noticed how dull his routine had been until now. He's never had the will to change his ways, because it's something that he's so used to, something that's become part of him but now he's starting to think twice.  
  
"Oh, Liverpool's on," Calum says, sounding delightful. "Game on, lads."  
  
The night goes on rather unexpectedly laid back manner for Michael, and by the time he and Ashton step out of the door with Calum and Luke clapping their shoulders as a goodbye gesture, he'd have to admit that he'd had a pretty good time. They'd mostly been watching the soccer match on TV, which is pretty much Michael's ideal activity had he been left alone in the house (that is, without his new GTA 5, of course). Calum's excitement for Liverpool was infectious enough for Michael to have a good few laughs here and there and the abundance of booze summed up a pretty good night overall.  
  
"So, what'd ya think?" Ashton's speech is a little jumbled up as an after-effect of the few bottles of beer he's had. He's got an arm around Michael's shoulders as they walk down to the parking lot towards his car, and usually this kind of close proximity would have put Michael off, but Michael himself is in a lightheaded state, mind a little fuzzy, but not too much until the world starts feeling like it's spinning around, so he doesn't mind. It's a good kind of feeling that has his feet feel a tad lighter and he's thinking that he would be purring by now if he was a feline.  
  
( _What the actual fuck_ , he shakes his head at that funny thought, but chuckles anyway.)  
  
"What did I think of what?"  
  
"Luke. Cal. Aren't they just adorable?" Ashton laughs, stumbling a little as they walk off a curb and fishing in his pocket for the car keys. "Cutest couple ever."  
  
Michael's about to go around to the passenger's seat and open up the door, but halts when he hears the last bit of Ashton's sentence. "What?"  
  
Ashton stares back at his deadpan expression with amusement. "Yeah. They're an item. Isn't it kind of obvious?"  
  
"No...?" Michael widens his eyes, which appears to tickle Ashton's funny bone even further.   
  
"I guess you're not used to them enough to notice the handsiness," Ashton gestures wildly with his hands. He doesn't seem to notice that he'd just used a word that doesn't exist in the dictionary. "You will soon, though, I can promise you that. Or maybe not." He frowns. "They're pretty gross sometimes, too."  
  
Michael can't really comprehend why he's so surprised by this new piece of information. Maybe it's because Luke and Calum seem just like any two typical Australian young men forced to share a tiny apartment together, fresh out of school and in no absolute rush to figure out what to do with their lives. They sure seem like they've been friends since forever, like they know every detail about each other more than Ashton about either one there's definitely an easy bond between them that is just right on the scale of comfortable. But he'd assumed that as merely a sign of long-term friendship - nothing more, nothing less.  
  
He makes a mental note to keep an eye out for the "handsiness" next time he meets them.  
  
"Mikey?"   
  
Michael tries not to cringe at his new nickname, ignoring the prickle of annoyance he's feeling just under his chillingly numb skin. No one's ever called him that, but he's really trying not to snap at Ashton for it, given that he's had a pretty enjoyable night thanks to him. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket, looking at a heavy-lidded Ashton.  
  
"Could you drive instead?" Ashton asks, looking somewhat smiling meekly, "I don't think I'm quite in the right condition to drive. Unless you want me to get us into a car accident." He giggles right at the end of the sentence.

He fucking  _giggles_.  
  
"I'd rather not," Michael agrees, catching the keys flying in his direction in a high arc above the car.   
  
Ten minutes into the car ride home, and Ashton's already snoring lightly with his head against the window.   
  
  
*  
  
The next weekend, Ashton drags him out again, with an almost manic look in his eyes, saying, "You're gonna love this!" like a mantra, even as Michael's stumbling along to keep up with his pace. They get into Ashton's car again, and it occurs to Michael that the only purpose his own car serves is to transport him to and fro from work and merely to collect dust.   
  
Michael swears he had been a lot more stubborn about staying at home, but Ashton's enthusiasm puts a huge question mark in his head and it doesn't help that Ashton has a pretty effective pouty, puppy-dog look that tugs at his heartstrings at least a little bit, if not a little too much. He's just thankful that he's got enough time to trade his sweatpants out for jeans before he's hauled out of the front door with just his phone in hand and a wallet in his back pocket.  
  
Then Michael discovers that when Ashton's sober, he drives his car like a fiend. They zip through the city of Sydney with the urgency of a man driving to get to his wife in delivery, the passing view through the windows nothing but a blur and when they don't have a choice but to stop at a red light, it's with a tremendous jolt that would've sent Michael face-first into the dashboard had he not taken care enough to wear a seatbelt.  
  
"What - the -  _fuck_ ," Michael's breathing heavily, heart pumping at an abnormal rate as they pause their bumpy ride right in front of a cafe at a junction. Ashton doesn't look the least bit ruffled, instead he looks over at Michael and laughs. He laughs that annoyingly childlike laugh, throwing his head back and saying, "What? At least I was sensible enough to let you drive last week. Considering that, I think I drive quite responsibly."  
  
"Driving at 180 kilometres per hour doesn't count as responsible driving," Michael replies through clenched teeth.  
  
"Trust me. I've got a clean record. I know what I'm doing."  
  
The red light turns green. Michael squeezes his eyes shut. The rush of adrenaline starts again. Thankfully, it turns out to be a rather short trip to a small pub, an underground, dusty place that looks like it was formerly a basement, but Michael gets out of the car with shaky knees and a desperate need for an asthma pump.   
  
" _Please_. Spare me the horror of actually dying on the way back home and let me drive," Michael pants as he and Ashton make their way down the steps to the pub, the neon lights hanging above their heads dim, spelling out,  _Carson's Pub_.  
  
"Aw," Ashton pouts, "You're no fun." He takes the lead, Michael tailing him with a certain amount of wariness toward the shady-looking place. He has to shake off the thought of the possibility that he might be brought down here to be ambushed and drugged to unconsciousness, and that Ashton actually turns out to be a mentally ill serial killer that's been aiming to murder him all along.   
  
 _This is ridiculous, shut up_.   
  
Michael decides that he should lay off all the  _Amnesia_  he's been playing on the computer for the past week.  
  
"Hey guys, good to see you!" A familiar voice greets them, and Michael looks up to see Calum on stage, a bass guitar in hand.   
  
"I got your text about the new song," Ashton responds, "Thought Mikey here would like hearing it first." He turns to smile at Michael, who gives Calum a display of teeth and a thumbs-up.  
  
"We might play it later on the real show but we wanted a few outsiders' opinions first, so," Luke says, shrugging on the strap of his guitar and tapping the microphone to test it.   
  
The few outsiders consist of Michael and Ashton, and two other guys who happen to be close friends of the drummer and the guitarist respectively. They sit at a round table on high chairs, the obligatory bottles of beer on their table already at least one-quarter finished even though the band hasn't even started playing.  
  
"Hello, I'm Niall," a young man around their age greets in a thick accent, the glasses perched on the bridge of his nose suspiciously like a pair of Raybans with the shades taken out. He's smaller in height and breadth compared to both Michael and Ashton, but he's confirmed himself as the loudest as the band starts out, the brown-haired guitarist strumming a few chords before Luke launches into a strong solo.  
  
"That's my boy, Tomlinson," Niall's saying over the loud music, pointing at the guitarist. "Liam here is buddies with the drummer, uh - what's his name again, Leemo?"  
  
Liam hadn't said much the whole time, being somewhat preoccupied with his phone, but he then acknowledges Niall's question with a reply, "Zayn. You wouldn't believe how quiet he usually is though."  
  
On stage, Zayn's behind the drum set and hitting away at the cymbals like a beast. Michael honestly can't imagine him being anything other than the very instrument he plays, but he knows well enough that looks can be pretty deceiving.   
  
"The funny thing is that, Liam and Zayn and me and Louis - like, we never knew each other before this," Niall says, taking a swig of his beer, "I mean, me and Louis do, obviously, but we'd never actually met Zayn and Liam before. And, well, Luke and Calum. It's like a social union of sorts, plus good music, you know what I mean?" He raises an eyebrow and nods at Luke. "He's mad talented, this lad."  
  
Michael has to admit that they're pretty decent for a band that's only started out about a year ago (this piece of information supplied by Ashton whilst on their way here) - their sound is at par with the other local bands he's known though there's something lacking, but he can't quite put a finger on it. He observes the amount of energy on stage that creates a buzzing atmosphere around the room, and he can almost predict a successful future lying ahead of them. The only thing that's hindering him from being sure is the lack of people in the room, but he supposes it's probably just not the pub peak hour, or that it generally isn't a place a lot of people would go to.   
  
"Isn't Louis quitting soon, though?" Liam looks up from his imminent scrolling, frowning.  
  
Niall sighs, as if it's him that the decision is made upon. "Yeah, he won't be around much longer, going back to London to do a degree and stuff like that. I say it's a waste. If he sticks it out a bit longer, they'll be big. I know they will."   
  
"You could join the band, then," Ashton suggests, "You play the guitar."  
  
"Nah, I've got other commitments, and besides I prefer staying by the sidelines," Niall grins, braces on display, "Sort of like a cheerleader."  
  
Ashton suddenly has his eyes wide, and Michael senses an incoming idea whirring in his head. He's hoping it won't have anything to do with involving him as a sideline cheerleader as well, despite the fact that he's growing to like the band's music with every passing second of the song they're currently rehearsing.  
  
"Mikey, you play the guitar, don't you?" Ashton turns to him, "You could substitute Louis, then!"  
  
"Um," Michael laughs nervously, "I don't think -"  
  
"That's an idea," Niall nods in agreement, "I'm sure Luke wouldn't mind having you in the band."  
  
The song comes to an end with a wicked riff from Luke's guitar, and the couple of people at the bar stay silent, completely ignoring them while Niall leads the raucous round of applause, indeed living up to his self-proclaimed status as the cheerleader.   
  
"So what'd you think?" Luke calls out instead of using the microphone, obviously knowing that their target audience is just the ones at the table right in front of the stage.  
  
"I have an inkling that Harry wrote that," Liam muses aloud, "Am I right?"  
  
"That is correct," Louis replies, laughing, as he wipes a bit of sweat on his brow with the back of his hand, "He just has his signature style, doesn't he?"  
  
Ashton helpfully mutters to Michael, "Harry writes a lot of their songs. He's also kind of like their manager."  
  
"It's great, you should really perform it later tonight," Niall comments, "What do you think, Michael?"  
  
Michael has a feeling they're all under the same conspiracy to gang up on him, considering that he's the new guy.  _Well, if they want the truth, I can give them the truth._  "It's... a little off at some parts," Michael says, "Like maybe if you could break down the parts and let me see the structure of the song, I can point out the mistake or two."

"Hm yeah, that's what I thought," Luke nods, a look of amazement on his face at Michael's ability to pick up the faults. "You've got a good ear for this."  
  
"Which is exactly why we have a proposal to make," Ashton butts in, the grin on his face all-knowing. Michael is oddly reminded of the Cheshire cat.  
  
"And what is that?"  
  
"Louis, we know about you leaving the band. We're incredibly sorry to see you leave, but obviously we need a substitute so we were talking just then and since Michael plays the guitar as well... We figured he could maybe replace you when you go?"  
  
Louis snickers. "Can't wait to get me out of the band, I see."  
  
"No, no, no," Ashton is flustered, his cheeks reddening, "We just - you know, early plans. We thought you wouldn't mind."  
  
Michel restrains from kicking him under the table for the insistent use of "we". He never agreed to it in the first place.  
  
"I'm kidding, Ashton, cool it!" Louis laughs. "I don't know," he shrugs, "It's up to Luke."  
  
"Sure. Why don't you come over to our next practice and point out the mistakes in the song?" Luke asks, "I didn't know you play guitar though."  
  
"Welcome to the band, mate," Louis winks.  
  
And just like that, Michael's got a spot in Luke's band. He doesn't really know what to make of it, if he's being honest.  
  
The band moves on to rehearse their other songs and the bottles of beer are now empty, Liam and Niall deciding that they should go over to the bar and get something before the crowd starts filing in.  
  
"By the way Michael, that's a really sick colour for your hair," Niall nods, standing up, "I'm considering on getting mine dyed lilac but eh. We'll see. Liam thinks it'll look crazy but I reckon it'll look alright." He shakes his head and Liam just huffs out a laugh in response, moving away towards the bar. Niall follows suit, leaving Michael and Ashton alone at the table.   
  
“See? I’m just trying to be friends with you,” Ashton grins, leaning across the table and bopping Michael on the nose.  
  
“Did you really just bop me on the nose?” Michael says stoically.  
  
“Yup! I know you like me taking you out, don't lie."  
  
"And why the hell would you think that?"  
  
"You could've always told me to fuck off, but you never do."  
  
Michael opens his mouth to blurt out a furious rebuttal, but Ashton's already bouncing away, a playful glint in his eyes as he looks back. "I got you into a band, so thank me for that later!"  
  
Michael rolls his eyes and swivels in his high chair a little, keeping his face neutral as he takes a sip of his drink, but mind racing with explanations for his submissiveness toward Ashton lately. He ends up entangling his messy thoughts between the lyrics sung from the stage by Luke's band (which, he then realises, is also  _his_  band), and sometime in the seconds of 7:16 pm, he unwillingly concludes that he really is coming up short on excuses.


	2. we're only makin' out, if we make it out alright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after a little more than a month of slow progress i have finally managed to finish this fic with a larger word count than i expected wow. thank you to everyone who left kudos/comments on the first part, i really hope you like the second part and also thank you for waiting so patiently! this wouldn't have been made possible without a select few songs that have helped me along the way, which i will list at the end of the fic just in case anyone feels the need to listen to them when/after reading. :) unbeta'd; all mistakes are mine.

Band practices, as it turns out, are weekly affairs in which they'd all gather at Luke and Calum's impossibly small flat firsthand to decide whether a songwriting session would occur or do a regular run-through of songs they'd perform at their next gigs. Only then will they either stay and brainstorm for the production of new songs, or pile up in Zayn and Louis' van to Harry's house all the way out of the city, somewhere in the suburban part of Sydney.  
  
"He's like a recluse, living all the way out there in the middle of nowhere," Louis explains as he rides shotgun next to Zayn, who's driving.  
  
He's turning backwards to speak to the rest, all three (namely Luke, Calum and now Michael) whom are lost in the masses of various instruments loaded up in every corner possible. Michael's situated comfortably on an available seat, but uncomfortably and dangerously close to Zayn's heavy drum set, the crash cymbal swinging directly over his head as the van goes through a ride somehow as bumpy as his ride in Ashton's car had been. He doesn't particularly mind though, still caught up in marvelling at the wonder that is the interior and exterior design of the van, all done up with a Scooby Doo theme, albeit not very professionally. According to Luke, it had been mostly Zayn's work - everything from the bright colours spray painted over the initially white exterior to the comic book collage design on the roof and walls.

"This is really cool," Michael says, possibly for the sixth time since he's first set eyes on the vehicle.

Louis never fails to glow with pride every time the van is mentioned, grinning as he says, "It's amazing, alright. Zayn and I made a good decision in splitting our money to pool for this one." He takes a look around like he'll never get enough of seeing it in all its cartoonish grandeur.  
  
"We wanted a Volkswagen though, didn't we?" Zayn laughs from the driver's seat, "Would suit our 'upperclassmen status' better. Complete with PlayStation and Atari and the like. Leather seats with our initials on it."  
  
"One day it will be," Louis says wistfully, "But for now this is good enough. Good thing we've got Luke and Calum to actually utilize it properly, for the band. It does look rather silly if it's just me and Zayn in such a big space of a vehicle."  
  
"But what happens when you leave, then?" Luke asks, raising an eyebrow. He and Calum are sitting side by side, and though Michael hasn't actually witnessed their alleged "handsiness" for himself, there's something in the way that Calum's resting his leg on top of Luke's knee that screams out intimacy at a whole new level.  
  
"Full ownership goes to Zayn," Louis says, sighing. "Makes me a little hesitant to leave, actually."  
  
"Don't leave, then," Calum says, "You've been in this band for over a year, bro. Niall would be devastated."  
  
"Niall would be fine," Louis laughs, rolling his eyes, "He's got to learn to take care of himself anyway. As for the band, you've got Michael here. I have faith in ya, lad." He stretches an arm towards the back, barely brushing Michael's shoulder. "Besides, I've got me a lady waiting in London. Better than any van in the world, I say."  
  
"Shh, don't say that too loud, van's gonna start cryin' if she hears ya," Zayn says.  
  
Everyone laughs in response.  
  
"We'll miss you though, seriously," Luke says, smiling up at the older boy, "It's been an honour having you in the band."  
  
"You're acting like I'm going off to war or something, chill out!" Louis chuckles. "I'm going to stick around for another few weeks so let's make the best of it while we can."

Michael's hit with a pang of guilt all of a sudden, feeling somewhat like an intruder in the band after seeing the obvious attachment the band has for Louis, and vice versa. For a majority of his life, he's usually been at the sharp end of the knife when it comes to being replaced, but this time he's the one replacing Louis, and he's feeling bad because as accepting as they are of him right now, it's obvious that Louis' departure is going to leave a gaping hole that even he can't fill in when he becomes the guitarist.  
  
Luke, Calum and Zayn aren't just losing a band member; they're also losing a friend. Granted, one that they still can keep in contact with, but still. It's not the same when you're continents away from each other.  
  
"You alright, Mikey?" Calum asks, evidently picking up the new nickname from Ashton. "You've been a bit quiet."  
  
Michael nods, but doesn't say much throughout the rest of the ride.

 

 

*

 

“Hey, you’re back!” Ashton says in a way of greeting hours later, looking up from a huge box-looking thing he appears to be tinkering with, a screwdriver in hand. Michael takes in the sight of an open toolbox and Ashton in nothing but a pair of worn out jeans and a bandanna on his head as he goes through the front door, an eyebrow raised with curiosity.

“What are you doing?” he asks, hand still on the door handle as if he’s contemplating to run back out. The enormous device thing Ashton has between his outspread legs on the floor looks something like an aquarium or a fish tank, one Michael’s sure he’s never seen around the house before.

“Oh. This. Um, it’s this thing, it’s like an –” Ashton fiddles with the bandanna on his head, and it’s only then that Michael realises that it’s his.

“Hey, that’s mine,” Michael says, pointing.

“Sorry, should’ve asked first,” Ashton replies, looking sheepish.

Michael rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

He walks to the kitchen, leaving Ashton behind with whatever project that is he’s working on and gets himself a glass of water. Bringing it back to the living room, he plops on the sofa and turns on the TV with the remote, leaning back and using maximum advantage of the headrest. The band practice itself hadn’t been tiring, but the drive from Luke and Calum’s had been pretty long, plus the insane amount of traffic he’d to go through just to make his way back home. He’d even tried going way faster than his usual car speed (contending Ashton’s own driving), but there were too many cars for him to actually surpass anyone and make a quick return.

Ashton’s looking up at him from the floor, back leaning against the same sofa he’s sitting on. “How was band practice?” he asks.

“Good,” Michael says in a monotone. “They’re really good. Louis’ a proper guitar player.”

“Something wrong?” Ashton seems to have sensed his morose demeanour, picking himself up off the floor and sitting down beside Michael. There’s a scent of a little bit of sweat mixed with deodorant – one of those stupid brands Ashton likes to put on – hovering in the air, tickling Michael’s nose as he tries to concentrate on what appears to be a game show on the TV.

“Nothing,” he says, frowning and slumping further down into the sofa in a lazy way his mother would’ve found absolutely infuriating.

“C’mon, I see the frowny face, talk to me,” Ashton nudges him lightly, and Michael honestly would rather not have a heart-to-heart with him about the thing that’s been bothering him all day but the concern in Ashton’s voice makes him feel somewhat better. He sighs.

“I said, Louis’ a proper guitar player.”

“So? You’re good, too.”

Michael gives him a look.

“Alright, fine, I’ve never heard you play but I’m sure you are,” Ashton says quickly, backtracking.

“Louis’ going away and everyone seems awfully sad about it,” Michael says, trying to sound matter-of-factly. He watches a contestant on the TV show slipping off a slope set up in the game show and then being declared as eliminated. “I’m his replacement. It’s not going to be the same for them.”

“Hey, don’t feel that way,” Ashton says, “They like you. Yeah, they’ll miss Louis for a while but you’re not  _just_  a replacement. You’re an asset to the group now. You’re important.”

The words process in Michael’s head and ‘important’ stands out in his mind, bolded and in all-caps. He’s never heard anyone use it in the same sentence as his name, so it shouldn’t be much of a surprise to him how his heart is soaring at the sound of it, a little bit of his formerly bruised pride restored with just that one single word.

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

Michael feels Ashton’s hand on his. He flinches away slightly, out of reflex, his eyes snapping from the TV screen to Ashton.

“Sorry,” Ashton says quietly, looking a little dejected. An awkward silence follows, both of them obviously not knowing quite what to do to break it. There’s a strange feeling in Michael’s insides, like a churning that absolutely has nothing to do with the lunch he’s eaten just before coming back home. He feels his cheeks grow a little warm, and he emits a cough even though his throat isn’t the slightest bit itchy. A part of his mind is screaming at how atrociously rom-com-like the whole scene is.

 _Well fuck_ , he thinks,  _this is playing out really well_.

“Um. Want to go out for ice cream? My treat.”

Michael’s reminded of the time Ashton has told him that he brings his siblings out for ice cream whenever they’re feeling bad. The churning in his insides intensify, but he ignores it, nodding in response.

“Sure.”

The rest of the evening is spent listening to Ashton talk about his little project over banana splits, then Michael talking about how band practice had went with no mention of the physical contact they’d made. By the end of it all, Ashton’s still chattering away as they walk back home (going off-topic seems to be a very common occurrence in his speech), but there’s a weird tingly feeling all the way down to Michael’s toes that he can’t seem to shake off, especially when they share a laugh and when Ashton’s got his eyes on him with an expression he can’t quite fathom. All Michael knows is it’s a feeling he’s hesitant to indulge in, so he pushes it away to the back of his mind and continues pretending that everything is back to normal.

 

 

*

 

The next few weeks go by and Michael's doubt begins to evaporate, gradually feeling more and more comfortable with Luke, Calum, Louis and Zayn with every passing band practice. He'd also had the pleasure to make a fair acquaintanceship with Harry, who turned out to be something like a hipster with an odd liking for dressing down and random photography he claims as "eccentric art". Niall is as always, ever so content to hang around with the band and soon it becomes a weekly routine for all of them, Ashton included, to go out for a couple of drinks after band practice, and maybe even occasionally head over to Louis and Zayn’s shared flat for a bong hit or two.

They’ve formed a sort of brotherhood between all of them within the span of time Michael’s been in the band and as cliché as it sounds, he actually has never felt more at home than with the rest of them. With each passing day, he learns a little more about each of them and it’s really like having a huge family full of mischief and antics and quirks he’s never had the chance to grow up with when he was younger, having been an only child to his pair of doting yet authoritarian parents.

With Ashton, though, it’s somewhat of a different story. There’s still that unresolved tension floating in the air whenever it’s just the two of them, and so Michael desperately tries to fill in the gaps of silence so they wouldn’t have to hear or see or even think of it – the hand-holding incident; the elephant in the room, so to speak.

"You smile more now," Ashton remarks over breakfast one day, on a slow-moving Sunday morning for the two of them, with absolutely no purpose or anything planned at all. He’s been stirring his cereal around his bowl with a spoon for more than a minute now, eyes on Michael as if he’s an interesting specimen he’s studying.

Michael doesn’t know whether to feel freaked out or flattered. He takes a tentative bite of his cheese toastie. “That’s a pretty random observation.”  
  
“No, really,” Ashton says, scooping up a bit of cornflakes in his spoon and letting them drop into the bowl again. Michael’s beginning to get irked at him playing with his food like that. “You look a lot happier now. Especially on Fridays. Like you’re looking forward to the weekend, you know?”

“Who  _doesn’t_  look forward to the weekend?”

Ashton frowns slightly, keeping silent for a while. “Fair point,” he nods, and raises the spoon to his mouth.  _Finally_.

Breakfast continues on with a stifling silence that makes Michael feel a discomfort resulting from a strange sensation of edginess, so he finishes up as quickly as possible, puts his plate in the dishwasher and leaves Ashton at the table to set up his Playstation, which is followed by him flicking through his collection of video games and trying to decide between his two final picks.

Ashton walks into the room and settles down next to Michael on the sofa, asking, “What are you playing?” as if he knew the slightest bit about video games, which he doesn’t. Michael answers him anyway, and Ashton’s lack of response doesn’t surprise him. What catches him off-guard is Ashton’s next question.

“Can I play, too?” There’s a hopeful look on his face, mixed with something like meekness.

“All this time you’ve been around, I’ve never even seen you be the least bit interested in video games and now you want to play?” Michael asks, looking at him incredulously.

Ashton shrugs. “Thought I’d give it a try. Or is this game a solo player sort of game?”

“Nope.” Michael shakes his head, standing up and grabbing the ordinarily untouched second controller from the shelf and handing it to Ashton. “You’re weird.” He sees Ashton staring down at the controller with a slightly confused look on his face and rolls his eyes.

It takes a good five minutes to give a brief tutorial to Ashton about the basics of the game and how to use the controller before the game actually starts, the introduction about the general storyline in the game narrated by a gruff voice Michael has heard one too many times before. Ashton listens, though, face reflecting a visible look of wonder as he watches the realistic graphics on the screen.

It is only when the game starts that Ashton starts making small talk again, though with much difficulty, not being used to talking and concentrating on the game at the same time. He asks, “How’s the new song going, by the way? I know zero shit about music, so.”

“Oh, it’s good. I pointed out a few of the faults. They fixed it. They liked it.” Michael speaks with an effortless cadence, amused by Ashton’s staccato progression of words in comparison.

"I told you they'd like you." Ashton grins, tilting his controller as if it will affect his character’s movement in any way.  
  
Ashton's confidence in Michael (and how undeniably correct he is about the matter) startles him more than it should, but then again Ashton's always been the type to yield optimism as a shield against life's general mistreatment, no matter how unfair.  
  
A smile creeps slowly on Michael’s face. "Thanks." With the simple flex of his thumb on the controller, he finishes off Ashton’s character with a flourish. “You suck so bad at this!” he laughs.

Ashton lets out a cry of defeat, throwing a pseudo temper tantrum. “It’s alright,” he straightens up, “I only played to let you win.”

Michael can’t help feeling that he’s only half-joking, and the thought forces him to shake the giddiness coming all up to his head as he presses the buttons to advance to round two in single player mode. Ashton’s content to watch, leaning back and chucking his controller aside. Michael feels Ashton’s fingers subconsciously brush the skin just above his elbow.

He tenses up a little bit and gets the urge to pull away, but this time, he chooses not to.

 

 

*

 

The day of Louis' departure comes by too quickly for everyone's liking, including Michael, who's grown incredibly fond of him, and one Saturday morning they split into two groups to head to the airport instead of the usual detour to Harry's house. Louis, Zayn, Niall, Luke and Calum take the van, cleared of all instruments to fit them and Louis' luggage whilst Ashton, Michael and Harry hitch a ride in Liam's car.  
  
Louis drives the van, as it is his last time and Niall happily follows the rest into the vehicle, evidently excited at the prospect of just being in such a unique-looking vehicle.  
  
"Shotgun!" Ashton yells loudly despite the fact that it's barely past ten in the morning, which obviously is considered too early for anyone else in their group.  
  
Liam rolls his eyes and gets into the driver's seat with Ashton next to him, while Michael and Harry end up in the backseat. The car is astonishingly clean – a huge difference compared to Michael's own car, perpetually littered with crumbs from all the times he's eaten rushed breakfasts on the way to work or increasingly accumulating random papers and flyers taken from sidewalk promoters of some street performer or restaurant he'd never bothered to check out.

The ride to the airport doesn't feel too long - Harry's a good conversationalist, and Michael's duly caught up in his narrations of all their band shenanigans that had occurred before Michael's inclusion when Ashton bursts out with a remark of his own, interrupting right in the middle of Harry's sentence. It happens throughout Harry and Michael's conversation, even when they're talking about something completely unrelated to Ashton's scope of knowledge - he continues to talk his way through it, as though he's building a barrier between Harry and Michael's communication, which Michael can't really imagine why he'd be doing so. It's puzzling behaviour, and he suspects it to be envy at not being the center of attention, but there's also a little bit of something else that Michael can't quite figure out.  
  
"Quiet down, Ashton, honestly, they're trying to have a conversation," Liam chastises him once he's spoken up about the hundredth time in between Harry's words.  
  
"It's alright, Li, he's not a bother," Harry says brightly, obviously being the good sport. "Michael was just telling me at band practice the other day how he kind of likes Ashton's voice, even if he talks too much." He's got a conspiratorial grin on his face, which just confuses Michael even more.  
  
"You said that?" Ashton asks, suddenly whipping toward the back to look at Michael.  
  
"Um. Yeah. Must've been high or something," Michael says hastily. He fails to notice the eye-roll Harry does next to him, but Ashton gives him a smile anyway.  
  
"Aw, thanks, Mikey!"  
  
Michael feels a sense of betrayal at having his embarrassing confession (one he barely remembered making) being splayed out into the open by Harry, and chooses not to be as responsive to Harry the next time he starts talking. That, and the fact that he's from then on too preoccupied thinking over that remark and whether he really did mean it or not, because surely he never says anything he doesn't mean?  
  
In the front seat, Ashton doesn't interrupt any longer, so the rest of the ride is occupied with Harry's blathering on about things Michael isn't as interested in anymore, his mind on more pressing matters, until much later when the time comes for them to send Louis off at the terminal gates.

"Guess this is it, boys," Louis says, his step towards the escalator a small, hesitant one. He lets go of the handle of his bag and Niall's the first to come up and pull him into an almost suffocating hug. Louis stumbles a few steps backwards with the sheer force of the younger boy, laughing.  
  
"Gonna miss you, Lou," Niall says, voice muffled as he buries his face into Louis' shoulder. Louis pats him on the back and gently peels him off when he takes a tad too long. "Don't hold up the queue, silly."

Everyone else takes turns in showering Louis with their last-minute affections, the atmosphere unusually morose but repeatedly made lighter again by Louis' dismissing their emotional goodbyes with a playful punch or one of his usual saucy remarks. When it comes to Michael though, there's a serious look in his eyes and as he rests his head briefly on Michael's shoulder, the younger boy's posture oddly bent, he says, "Take good care of the rest of 'em, will you? You're in charge now."  
  
It occurs to Michael that whilst the band is technically formed by Luke and Calum, Louis has the upperhand most of the time, being the oldest.  
  
"I don't think I can handle that much pressure," Michael jokes as they part, "But I'll try."  
  
The guilt he hasn't felt for about a few weeks now comes back like an uncomfortable bug in his stomach, but Louis eyes him with a gentle smile and repeats what he'd said in the van a few weeks before, "I have faith in you."  
  
"Don't have too much fun without us," Ashton says to Louis. Michael feels his hand on his shoulder, squeezing it as if to offer comfort. He turns to see Ashton giving him a half-smile, and something in his eyes saying,  _I have faith in you too_.

“And you,” Louis speaks directly to Ashton, an impish gleam in his blue eyes, “Don’t mess things up.”

Michael cocks his head to the side, looking back at Ashton, who’s inexplicably turning red. Everyone else is exchanging knowing glances with each other, and it seems that Michael’s the only one who’s out of the loop on whatever inside joke they’re sharing now.

“What’s going on?” he asks, but no one replies. He's starting to get frazzled at all the confusion that's been going on, and being left out of some sort of secret the rest of them are sharing among themselves isn't making him feel any better.  
  
With a grin and a last salute, Louis picks up his luggage, turns and walks towards the escalator. They watch him with their hands on the railing as he descends the escalator and makes his way to the immigration counters, then past them and out of sight.

They later exit the airport in silence, the air strangely vacuum-like as if Louis' goodbye had taken away all of their words along with him. Zayn breaks the silence with, "Hey, Niall and I have to go meet up with the manager at Manny's to confirm our next gig. You guys wanna come?" He addresses the rest, and Liam immediately shakes his head.  
  
"I've got something up a little later in the afternoon, sorry," Liam says, a beeping sound from his pocket signifying an incoming message. He fishes around in his pocket with urgency.  
  
"A little something," Niall contemplates, wiggling his eyebrows. Liam turns scarlet, fixing his concentration onto his phone.  
  
"I think you should be able to handle it by yourselves," Luke says.  
  
"I think I'll go," Harry shrugs, "Got nothing much to do today."  
  
Zayn, Niall and Harry walk off towards the van after thumping and bumping the rest in typical male-mannered goodbyes and then Liam says, "C'mon then. I'll drive you boys home."

They walk down to the parking lot and get into the car, Ashton taking his place in the passenger seat once again and as Michael settles in his seat by the window, he spots a disturbing motion in the corner of his eye, a low moan confirming his suspicions and he turns his head to see Calum’s hand right on Luke’s crotch, face deceivingly innocent while Luke clamps his mouth shut, apparently embarrassed at having caught by Michael.

"Oi! Stop harassing each other in my car, will you?" Liam exclaims, looking up into the rear view mirror where Calum's stifling his laughter into Luke's shoulder. Liam shakes his head and puts the car key in the ignition.  
  
"Ashton's warned me about this!" Michael says, groaning and throwing his arms up in mock frustration. "Should've been more prepared."  
  
"It's a show we put on for certain people only," Calum's grinning cheekily, throwing an arm around Luke's shoulders while Luke's blushing furiously, eyes anywhere but on Michael and Ashton, who's looking back from the passenger seat.  
  
"I feel privileged," Michael says dryly, though undeniably amused.  
  
"You won't be for long," Ashton says, turning back to the front with a visibly disgusted look on his face. "I think I either need to puke or get a drink to get that image out of my mind forever."  
  
Calum raises a middle finger. Luke just bites his lip, looking out the window. Liam chuckles and takes control of the steering wheel.  
  
Michael laughs. Ashton's grimace promptly turns into a smile.

 

 

*

 

It seems like Michael's resistance towards Ashton's power of persuasion is starting to waver little by little, but by a rather wide margin than before, because one Saturday morning he's dragged out of bed at barely the crack of dawn and hurried into the car whilst his eyes are barely open, yet without much protest.  
  
"What's going on?" Michael yawns, rubbing his eyes and turning to look at the backseat, in which Ashton is loading a bag, looking a hundred times more awake than Michael's zombie-like state.  
  
"I'm taking you somewhere," Ashton replies briefly, then closes the back door before going around to get into the driver's seat.  
  
"At fuckin'..." Michael glances at the digital clock on the radio bar, "...5 am?"  
  
"We need to be early, man, don't complain," Ashton puts the key in the ignition and the engine roars to life, the sound a tad too loud for Michael's own liking.  
  
"Seriously? You're actually kidnapping me right now?"  
  
"Oh, shush," Ashton chastises him, waving a hand and slowly manoeuvring the car out of the parking lot. "Go back to sleep, I'll wake you up one we're there."  
  
Michael's annoyed and confused and irritated, but he's in too much of a dazed state to actually give a shit, so he falls back into a slumber right after, only to wake up much later in front of the same airport they'd been to for Louis' departure. The bustling crowd is astonishing in number, despite the fact that it's really quite early, in Michael's opinion, to walk around fully-clothed let alone catch a plane and go anywhere at this time of the morning. Though in everyone else's defense, it's already been two hours since they've left the house, which means that it is now 7 a.m., but still.  
  
"Why are we here?" Michael asks, squinting up at the large building, seeing people with luggage and wheeling bags going in and out through the main entrance.  
  
"Because we're going on a holiday, silly! You need one." Ashton randomly reaches out to cup Michael's chin and gives him the blinding grin he usually saves for being extremely cheeky. Which he is technically doing now, because Michael had definitely not expected to be driven to the airport at 5 in the morning to go on an impromptu holiday.  
  
"Why the fuck did you think I needed one?"  
  
"You're had a rough week, haven't you?" Ashton opens up his side of the door and goes off to the back of the car to get a bag barely large enough to fit in a day's worth of clothes. "Thought it'd be best for you."  
  
"And what exactly did you bring in that?"  
  
"Clothes? Toiletries? The usual," Ashton shrugs. "But they're mostly mine. I figured we could share."

"There's no fucking way I'm sharing a toothbrush with you."  
  
"Geez. You swear so much in the morning. Someone get me a censor button. And no, I meant the clothes. I brought your toothbrush and everything."  
  
"How considerate of you."  
  
"Thanks, now get your ass out of the car!" Ashton has the bag in one hand as he slams his door shut, and promptly widens his eyes expectantly at Michael to do as he's been instructed. Michael groans and he complies, albeit reluctantly since he's still in his horizontally striped shorts and a t-shirt which he's at least thankful for because even if he's alright with walking around in full nudity at home, he's not exactly as comfortable doing so in public. Regardless, he gets stares in his way as he walks next to Ashton, from businessmen looking sharp in their suits and mobile phones in hand to employees at each fast food restaurant they pass by.

"You could've told me to change," Michael mutters angrily, eyes fixed straight ahead to avoid eye contact with strangers obviously passing brutal judgments on his appearance.

"That would've ruined the surprise," Ashton says as they go up to the check-in counter, "Besides, I wanted to get you into the car so you could go back to sleep as soon as possible. I swear, you were like two minutes away from exploding in my face with your tired rage. You're like the Hulk when someone interrupts your sleep."

Michael just huffs with annoyance, patting down a few tufts of hair that were out of place.

Ashton places his elbows on the marble counter. “What’s the soonest flight out of here?” he asks the woman at the counter (but not before a chipper morning greeting, of course).

The woman mentions a place Michael vaguely remembers hearing about in class years ago but can’t seem to place exactly where it is on the map of Australia, and without hesitation, Ashton declares, “Tickets for two, then!”

"Where the hell is... wherever the hell we're going?" Michael asks when they've gotten their respective tickets, walking towards the waiting lounge where the gates to their flight would be open soon.

"I don't know," Ashton grins, "But that's part of the fun." He tosses the bag onto Michael's lap and Michael greets the unexpected load with an, "Oof!"

"Going around for a bit, stay here with the bag," Ashton orders, and Michael feels that twinge of irritation again, because he doesn't like how bossy Ashton's being, but keeps his mouth shut anyway.

The wait before going on board is a short one, though Michael’s spirits lifts considerably when Ashton comes back from the duty free airport store with a bag of various ranges of candy, packets of them ripped apart and chewed on within all fifteen minutes of waiting for the doors to open. Michael’s biting open a packet of Skittles and Ashton sticks a lollipop into his mouth, looking on with amusement.

“Wot?” Michael asks, mouth full of sweet beads of spectrum of colours.

“You’re adorable,” Ashton says offhandedly, taking the lollipop out briefly, yawning and stretching an arm across the back of Michael’s seat. A siren blares off in Michael’s head.

This isn't the first time Ashton's made a comment about him like that, of course, but every time he does Michael gets a little something like a heart attack, even though by now he should be getting used to all of it. They're always small, subtle remarks about various things about Michael - whether it be how he looks that day or at the current moment or how good he is at video games or playing guitar - spoken so casually that they shouldn't take that much of a toll on Michael when they are uttered. But they do.

They're like little bursts of fuel that make Michael's heart leap, and - okay, he  _really_  needs to stop thinking of them in that way because it's becoming incredibly cheesy at this point. Nevertheless, there's no mistaking the smile threatening to form on his face, or the mildly giddy feeling in his head.

 _Dammit Michael, stop it, stopstopstopstopstop_. He decides to blame it on his half-awake brain being simply a little nutty in the morning.

Five minutes later, the gates open and they make their way into the aircraft, Michael no longer empty handed with the bag of candy in his grip. They settle into their seats – Michael sits right next to the window and Ashton’s in the middle seat, the aisle seat thankfully unoccupied.

“You excited?” Ashton asks, buckling up his seat belt.

“I still don’t know exactly where we’re going, so I’m mostly just scared,” Michael says.

“Have a little faith, Mikey! This is going to be fun. I promise you.” Ashton’s his usual chirpy self despite the fact that it’s still pretty early (a glance at Ashton’s watch informs him that it is 7:32 a.m.) and Michael questions in his head how anyone could be so bright and happy in the morning when he’s basically still feeling sleep-deprived.

The plane soon starts moving after a greeting from the captain over the intercom and as it moves on the runway it gains momentum, the speed increasing and the rumble of the engine and the rattle in Michael’s bones makes his heart pound a tad bit faster than usual – paranoid thoughts of  _what if it crashes halfway through?_  clouding his mind despite the fact that he’s not ever usually scared of flying, but he really can’t help the possibilities of anything going wrong sometimes teetering over the edges of his mind.

He holds his breath as he feels the plane being lifted off of the ground, eyes set on the view outside growing smaller and smaller and soon the city he’s grown to know all these years becomes a miniature display, like ones in a showroom and he could see toy cars going on the road like a flashback from his childhood. The air he’s been holding is slowly released, his heart rate going back to normal, a relieved smile spreading across his face.

Michael turns his head and sees Ashton looking at him cautiously, as if hoping for a positive reaction out of him.  
  
“We’re airborne.”

Ashton smiles. “Whoosh,” he replies, without much reason.

 

  
*

  
  
They end up on a beach.

It’s mostly abandoned – completely deserted except for a couple just on the far end and a family of four on another. It’s much quieter than the usual hullaballoo at regular beaches Michael had been to, free of the shrieking of excitable small children and countless crowds of rowdy teenagers trying to get themselves noticed by the general public. The only sounds that can be heard are the rippling of water as the tide rises and subsides like a slumbering person’s steady breathing, the waves slapping onto the shore and the occasional squawks of the formation of passing seagulls up ahead.

It’d taken about fifteen minutes of going around in their rented car – making stops at a diner for lunch and then a public restroom and then a souvenir shop – before finally discovering this particular secluded area, the mere glimpse of it from the window of Ashton’s driver’s seat making him automatically exclaim, “We  _have_  to go there!” and so here they are.

The temperature is unbearably hot as always, but Michael’s grateful to have been blessed with a spot under a tree, safe from the direct burning of the sun that he so often had cared to avoid. He and Ashton end up on a mat they’d picked up on the way there with a battery-powered mini radio, keeping a safe distance from the other few people there.

Ashton doesn’t hesitate to strip off his shirt, pulling out a pair of sunglasses he’d bought along with the mat and the radio and putting them on. Michael watches him lean back with ease, supporting himself up with an elbow.

"I'm starting to think that you're bringing me out here as just as an excuse to take your shirt off."  
  
"That's because I forget I have a perfect body sometimes, so I need all the gawking I can get to boost my confidence," Ashton makes an attempt to be cocky, but the effect is ruined by his laughter and the red colouring his cheeks.  
  
A thought swirls around Michael's head like a stray ribbon floating on bobbing waves of sea, something that goes along the lines of,  _he really does have a perfect body_ , and he almost physically whacks himself to eliminate it from his mind. He turns the dial of the radio to distract himself from it, searching for a good station to listen to.

“There isn’t anyone here to gawk at you, so sorry to disappoint,”

“What are  _you_  doing with your shirt on? Take it off!” Ashton reprimands him as if having an article of clothing on his upper body is a capital offense on the beach.

Michael stops fiddling with the dial and rolls his eyes. “I was getting to that.” He pulls his shirt over his head and hurls it onto a mini pile with Ashton’s.

“It’s so beautiful here,” Ashton says wistfully, looking around, “I wonder why there aren’t many people around, though.”

“Assuming that half of Australia wouldn’t even have heard of this place, I’d say that’s why.”

Ashton snorts. “Just because you don’t know the place, doesn’t mean it’s fictional. Maybe you’re just bad at geography.”

Michael hums in agreement, but only to the last bit of Ashton’s sentence. There’s something that screams ‘fictional’ all around him – from the resonating quiet, to how the sea looks like a wetter version of the sky, to the fine sand he’s laying his palm on. The whole place seems a little too good to be true, like a man-made set for a movie or something of the sort. It all feels unreal, makes  _him_  feel unreal. Like he’s completely detached from the amount of duress he’d endured for the past week, like all his worries are far, far away.

A Beach Boys song starts playing from the radio, the sound tinny and exactly what you’d expect from a gadget that costs a mere five dollars. Ashton hums to the cheerful tune of ‘Wouldn’t It Be Nice’, and Michael listens, watches him in his unusual silence.

It is moments like these when Michael starts, somewhat involuntarily, noticing Ashton's physical being, because most of the time when he talks, it's all you can pay attention to. When he's quiet, Michael gets to take in the sight of him in his wholeness - the brown curls on his head tousled gently by the wind, warm, tanner skin in relative to Michael's, the contours of his body from neck to strong shoulders to broad chest to the washboard abs he's sure Ashton's had to work pretty hard for over the years before moving into Michael's flat. He's undeniably attractive, Michael's always known that, but today he seems almost like a walking definition of perfection.

Which Michael wants to dismiss as completely ridiculous, but then something about him realising how beautiful Ashton really is brings on an impulse to get something of his chest - something he's been mulling over for sometime now, something he's been ignoring for too long.

“Listen,” Michael starts, the word slipping off his tongue with a proper sentence yet to be constructed in his head. Ashton looks at him expectantly with a questioning “hmm?”

Michael opens his mouth, closes it again, and then says, “I know I’ve been a total dick to you ever since you moved in and everything, but thank you. You’ve…” he hesitates, reconsidering his next few words.  _Fuck it_. “…made me better.”

“Really? In what sense?”

“You’re really going to make me talk about it, aren’t you?”

Ashton laughs. “ _Yeah_. You have been a total dick to me the entire time. You owe me an explanation.”

“It’s just. I wake up every morning hating my parents for forcing me to get a degree and making me to go from job to job and doing things that I hate and my life has just been sort of  _pointless_. Like, I realise that I’m in the same boat with Luke and Calum because we still are clueless about figuring out the meaning of life or whatever but they have something to do before all of that, you know? They have their band and I have nothing but an obsession with pizza and video games. They get to be productive, and I don’t.” He expects Ashton to interrupt, but he doesn’t.

“I’ve always felt like doing nothing is the best way, because doing things always end up being like, disastrous for me,” Michael continues, frustration coming up to the surface after so long of having it all bottled up. “I dated a girl last year and she dumped me under the excuse of me ‘not doing anything’ and that time I just felt angry and confused because at least I’m not going out there and leading a terrorist army or anything, right? Then she goes off with some guy who works in a cubicle and I just sort of felt useless compared to him. Like what’s the point of living anymore? I wasn’t suicidal or anything, but I guess the feeling of worthlessness just sucked all of the ambition left in my life and I just… gave up.

“But with you, it’s like. It’s frustrating, because you want me to go out and live, and I didn’t want to do that because my routine is comfortable and it doesn’t involve me being hurt or me hurting anyone else and it’s just  _easy_. Then you got me into the band and yeah, as much as I hate to admit it the first time, it’s made me a whole lot happier and people actually appreciate what I do and so I give you credit for that. You're always saying nice things to me, too, and they really do make me feel better about myself even though I don't always act like I care. And, I mean, this whole holiday thing. It’s not so bad, I guess.”

Michael exhales through his mouth, marking the end of his rant.  _God, that felt good_.

Ashton smiles. “Was that so hard to say?”

“A little,” Michael deadpans, even though his eyes are starting to well up with tears. He never knew it was possible to cry of relief, but now here he is. He blinks them back before Ashton catches sight of his emotional state.

“I'm doing all of those things because I like you,” Ashton says, taking off his sunglasses and staring out at the sea. His brown eyes are soft, the lashes framing them long, now that Michael's taken a closer look. “I knew there was a genuine person under that grumpy, ‘I-hate-life’ character you put on and well, you look cute when you smile. And you’ve been smiling a lot lately. I like seeing you happy.”

“You could’ve told me that,” Michael says, “Half of the time it really feels like you’re just terrorizing me for the fun of it.”

Ashton turns back to look at him. “Well. Okay. I hope you don’t take this in that way, then.” He leans over towards Michael, a hand on Michael’s cheek and their mouths make contact, lips meeting for a good few seconds before Michael dips his tongue in a careful, experimental way into Ashton’s mouth. Ashton’s breath is warm and dashed with a mixture of sweet and salty, very much like the slight burn of the sun on Michael’s own ghastly complexion, like the sea breeze ruffling through their hair.

They pull away after a moment, and Michael blinks in awe.

“Did we really just kiss?”  
  
Ashton laughs and leans in to do it again, this time with a playful nip on Michael’s bottom lip. He pulls back and there’s a sensation in Michael’s stomach that is strangely akin to a feeling described in a line in a typical chic lit novel.  
  
“You’re grumpy a lot of the time, so you’d better be grateful that I like you enough,” Ashton says, reaching to hold his hand and giving it a little squeeze.

“Stop calling me that!”

“Fine. Sweetcheeks.” Ashton pinches his cheek, grinning that cheeky grin again.

Michael contemplates on telling him to ‘shut up’, the phrase being one of his default reactions to most things but he tries something new out of impulse. He makes the first move this time, cupping Ashton’s jaw and kissing him and feeling the stupid butterflies doing a stupid cheerleading routine in his stomach once again.

“So. First step to a better life. Making out on a beach with your awesome new boyfriend?”

“Fuck off,” Michael says, but presses his lips against Ashton’s anyway, relishing the thrill of it as his hand roams over Ashton’s bare torso, sighing with pleasure. He can’t afford to resist it any longer, and even though he didn’t know it before this, it feels like he’s been waiting to do this since forever.

And so it  _is_  kind of atrociously rom-com-like. But so what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the songs that have majorly inspired this fic are:-
> 
> kill the director by the wombats, folding chair and the party by regina spektor, u + me by dan black, junk of the heart (happy) by the kooks, makin out by pomplamoose, when u love somebody by fruit bats, little bit by lykke li and stay stay stay by taylor swift.
> 
> i highly recommend listening to makin out after the fic, i imagine it to be sort of like the closing song :)


End file.
